


Golden

by hanville



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Basketball, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanville/pseuds/hanville
Summary: Ten different expressions flash through Jisung’s face in the span of a second; it happens fast for Minho to read but his wide eyes speak volumes. They’re bright—just as golden as Minho has thought; soft and sweet and Minho might be falling all over again.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! i came across [this](https://twitter.com/maybeminsung/status/1363551641606250498) tweet from "things that could be minsung" account and almost lost my shit. i decided to turn it into an au and . well, just this one short scene ended up blossoming into an almost 10k words fic in the span of 4 days?? i absolutely do not know how it happened—i just wanted to add a little backstory and it feels like those characters decided to write their own life without consulting it with me !! but i love them and i hope you will, too.  
> [nat](https://twitter.com/mescuatroprr/status/1363624236498231297) has drawn the scene from maybeminsung's tweet, too and it's so damn cute please check it out you won't regret it !! 
> 
> enjoy !! ♡

❝i once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden.❞

Minho is halfway through a particularly specific order when the door is pushed open, letting the bustle of the street into the café.

He’s too used to it, having worked here for a few weeks now, and he doesn’t look up from the chai latte he’s preparing. Yeeun is by the counter, anyway.

The door closes and it’s then that Minho hears the footsteps—the goddamn boots that always make so much noise; apparently, the person wearing them just has to let everyone know they’ve arrived. 

Minho rolls his eyes and keeps pouring the whole milk foam like Han Jisung isn’t there with his big stompy boots and heart-shaped smile and probably that white hat on his head even though it’s scorching hot outside.

“Hi, is Minho working in the back today?” he hears, Jisung’s voice clear and loud like he wants to make sure Minho hears him even if he’s in the staff’s restroom on the other side of the building (it’s definitely what he’s trying to do).

And it’s funny how his coworkers already know Jisung (and tease Minho every time he stops by the shop), how sometimes he doesn’t even have to speak and they’re pointing fingers where Minho is serving tea to some old lady in the corner. Minho thinks they must like him, but then it’s just a scientifically proven fact that you can’t really dislike Jisung. Jisung is just… Jisung. 

Minho lets out an exaggerated sigh and takes the _small chai latte, 170 degrees, half regular vanilla, half no sugar added, soy milk but whole milk foam_ to the front. The person who ordered this drink must be fun at parties, but it’s not like Minho can judge—the triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato he’s ordered once (because Jisung actually had him do it) still haunts him in his worst nightmares.

It’s a strange thing but so clear to see—when Minho emerges from the back and steps behind the counter, Jisung’s face lights up. And Minho can’t even pretend he’s annoyed with Jisung coming by all the time because…

Because. 

But Jisung isn’t alone. Changbin looks up from his phone to send Minho a quick handwave before he’s back to furiously tapping the screen. Well, what is Minho even expecting from his friends, all addicted to technology? 

Yeeun takes the cup from his hands, taking this chance to leave them alone. Minho offers her a thankful smile but she’s off already and doesn’t even look back. 

Jisung leans over the counter with his big doe eyes and even bigger smile, and it’s very unsanitary but Minho watches him for a second more before shooing him away. 

“What can I get you two?” Minho asks, just because Jisung always tilts his head to the back and pretends to be very annoyed when Minho uses his customer voice on him. 

“Oh, come on! You know we didn’t come here just for drinks.” 

Changbin perks up. “Correction. I did come here for drinks.” 

“Yes, because you’re a gold digger.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, wow, Jisung. Did your grandma give you money again? Are the drinks on you today?”

Changbin snickers, this time sliding his phone into the back pocket of his dark jeans. “More like, on you.” When Minho blinks in confusion, he carries on, “Well, you always give Jisung free drinks whenever he comes by.” 

No, Minho definitely does not do such things. It’s just that he’s got an employee discount at the coffee shop and when you combine it with the on-going Two for the Price of One offer, it’s much more efficient to share the other drink with someone.

And it’s only a coincidence that Minho usually gets himself a cup of coffee when Jisung stops by. 

“Don’t deny it!” Jisung grins. Minho hates the way his smile does something to his stomach; the way it feels so ticklish and makes Minho want to puke. “You only give free stuff to cute people, though, so Changbin has to understand that he needs to pay for his own coffee.” 

Minho doesn’t know if he wants to smash his head against the counter or tell Jisung to leave, taking his glimmering eyes and soft blond curls falling over his forehead with him. Looking at him is a dangerous thing, admiring him is a dangerous thing, being close to him is a dangerous thing. Jisung is soft and gentle and all good things in the world but he’s dangerous. 

“Yes, cute people get free drinks and choco cheesecake but that doesn’t, sadly, include you,” Minho eventually tells him but Jisung knows him—he reaches over the counter to push Minho’s shoulder and giggles. 

“You fool! You gave me choco cheesecake yesterday! Just admit that I’m your favorite customer and I’ll let you live.”

It’s hard to live when Minho’s heart hammers in his chest like this, when it wants to break free from his rib cage and fly into Jisung’s hands. That would be messy, though. And Jisung hates the sight of blood. No—Minho’s heart needs to stay where it is. 

“You’re hardly a customer if you don’t pay,” Minho points out, shrugging.

Jisung opens his mouth to object but he must remember that, for the past few weeks Minho has been the one to bring him a tall glass of iced americano (height perfect for the green, polka dotted straw Jisung always brings along) and snaps it close. 

Minho offers him a smug smile. It only fuels Jisung more—he narrows his eyes, thinking that his glaring will affect Minho in any way. No chance.

“Hello, did you two forget I’m here? _Again_?” Changbin interrupts, putting an end to their staring contest. They both simultaneously turn to fix him with a glare and he looks between them, only to end up lifting his hands in defeat.

Minho turns deaf ears to him mumbling something about hating to deal with them two when they’re flirting and turns back to Jisung. 

He thinks Jisung must’ve heard it too, because he clears his throat and his eyes sweep over everything but Minho. Seo Changbin is getting his coffee poisoned today, he decides. 

Eventually, the corners of Jisung’s lips quirk up again and he says, “Well then, coffee boy, choose yourself something to drink and get me my usual. Changbin, what do you want? It’s on me.” 

Minho and Changbin exchange amused looks. Minho kind of expects him to joke about wanting the most expensive drink on the menu but Changbin orders an iced americano, too.

“You know, it kind of defeats the purpose of a gift,” Minho starts, writing down their order on a sticky note, “if I have to make my own coffee.” 

“I’ll take it.” Yeeun rolls in (and Minho notes that it’s taken her way too long to come back from that one particular customer sitting by the window) and snatches the piece of paper from Minho’s hand. Before he can object, she’s off again, disappearing in the back room to prepare their order. 

Well.

There isn’t much to do when Minho knows every corner of the shop by now and can’t study the decor so his eyes naturally fall onto Jisung. Jisung dressed in casual clothes, this time without his hat but with an equally obnoxious colorful jacket with shapes that Minho’s out-of-high-school brain can’t even name. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in practice now?” he asks, noticing that Jisung is in fact dressed differently, even though he’s stopped by at the usual time. 

Usual time is when Jisung is out of practice in the afternoon. He’s a part of the running team of their college and his schedule is flexible enough to practice in between classes.

Now that it’s summer, though, Jisung still runs, still practices, still stops by; he stays until Minho is finished with his shift for the day, sitting in the farthest corner of the shop—but close enough for Minho to still see him from where he’s working—doing homework or scrolling through cat videos on Instagram (Minho knows because his phone always vibrates in the back pocket of his jeans when Jisung tags him in almost every post he comes across).

More often than not, when Minho approaches to refill his glass, he finds Jisung reading those National Geographic articles on cool things like sharks living in an underwater volcano or people getting rescued from a flooded cave, and usually he peeks over Jisung’s shoulder because Minho just wants to know what he’s interested in these days. 

They head home together when Minho is dismissed and Jisung shares his thoughts of those articles with him, complains about his classes being particularly boring that day or hands him one earphone to play a song he’s come across and thought Minho might like. 

And Minho usually just hums and lets Jisung talk. It’s nice to just listen because he finds the timbre of Jisung’s voice particularly pleasant. Sometimes, Jisung nudges him in the side and exclaims, “Hey, you’re not listening to me!” but Minho is listening—he could actually repeat most of the words Jisung says but they wouldn’t sound this pretty and poetic. 

Minho likes to describe Jisung with this word—poetic. It hides so many more adjectives, so many beautiful things that need to be discovered and loved and cherished and it’s exactly what Jisung is, too. 

“Well, I thought that I could take a break today and spend time with my favorite people!”

Changbin scoffs from where he’s standing beside Jisung. “Favorite people? You threatened to push me under the passing car on our way here.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mention your name, sweetie. The world doesn’t revolve around you.” 

It’s such a bad joke and Jisung could do better and yet Minho is laughing like his life depends on it. Maybe it’s Changbin’s offended expression or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s biased and everything Jisung does, Minho finds endearing. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you, though,” he says, pointing at them with the cloth (Minho definitely isn’t pretending to be wiping the counter just so he can act like he’s working and not chatting with his friends), but even to his ears it doesn’t sound too convincing. “I’ve got a date with a cute boy today, sorry not sorry.”

Jisung clicks his tongue. “You seriously gotta stop pretending Doongie would ever want to date you if he was a human.” 

“Did you just say that Doongie doesn’t have a soul?” Minho lets out a dramatic gasp, the palm of his hand pressing to the left side of his chest. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I personally think Doongie has more soul than everyone in the world combined!” 

Minho knows Jisung isn’t making any sense but he also knows that Doongie is Jisung’s favorite—teasing and riling him up until he’s all red in the face is easy using cats. Jisung absolutely adores animals, especially his friends’ pets, and Minho actually has a hunch that Jisung might even like his cat more than him. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Jisung only keeps being his friend just so he can hang out at his place and pet Doongie. 

“Anyways,” Changbin cuts in before they can get into a heated conversation, “are you coming to the court with us?” 

Minho grimaces. “It’s fucking hot. Do you have a death wish? Do you want to fry yourself out there?” 

He’s actually pretty sure the AC running in the cafe is the only reason why he’s still alive. When Minho goes back home, he has to take an ice cold bath or he’ll end up as a steamed bun. 

Changbin isn’t surprised by his answer. Instead, he blinks and, not looking away from Minho, says, “Jisung, ask him.”

And Minho knows he’s screwed. 

Jisung doesn’t even manage to use his pout and sparkling eyes—hell, he hasn’t even turned his head to Minho yet, and Minho is already letting out an exaggerated sigh.

It’s enough of an answer—Changbin breaks into a smug smile and Jisung looks at Minho; he looks at Minho like he always does and yet there’s something different to it. Maybe the straight face he’s trying to keep is not working—Minho doesn’t actually know what his face looks like now; the weird glint in Jisung’s eyes only adds to his confusion.

“Ah, you like me that much?” 

Jisung really is a little piece of shit, the most annoying brat in the entire Universe, and yet Minho can’t stop his heart from fluttering when Jisung looks at him like that. 

“In your dreams. I just didn’t want to see you pulling ugly faces,” Minho tells him but he doesn’t think it affects Jisung in any way. If anything, his grin only grows wider. 

This boy is going to be the death of him. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

To be fair, when they finally leave the cafe with iced drinks in hand (this time bought by Minho), the sun has become a little more bearable. It’s still hot and Minho can feel himself sweating the moment he steps out onto the street, but it’s a quick walk to his apartment building so it isn’t all that bad. (And Jisung keeps talking about how he thinks he might sign up for a different class this year to “spice things up”; that’s definitely what makes Minho smile under his breath.) 

Minho agreed to join them only if they let him change and take a quick shower, and it’s not like they had a choice. Jisung and Changbin wait for him in the living area (or rather in the kitchen, stealing everything they can from his fridge) and Minho kind of hopes they get bored and leave or tell him the others have changed their minds and don’t want to spend their afternoon playing fucking basketball. 

But when Minho steps out of the bathroom, smelling of lime and apples, they’re still here. Jisung has Doongie in his arms, holding him delicately like a little baby but he looks up upon hearing the door creaking.

Minho pretends he doesn’t see the way Jisung’s eyes linger on his slightly exposed thighs for a moment too long. Well, he certainly isn’t going to wear jeans in this weather—what is Jisung expecting?

Clearing his throat, Minho tells Changbin, “Grab lemonade from the fridge and we can go,” and disappears in his bedroom to find sunglasses and a tube of sunscreen. 

He bids goodbye to Doongie, promising to come back home soon but the cat doesn’t seem to care, already hopping onto the chair to have a sweet nap. Oh, how much Minho wishes to do the same! But there he is, on his way to a damned basketball court on a hot summer day because his friends want to fool around. 

It’s not like he’s going to play, either. The walk to the part of town where you can immerse yourself in outdoor sports activities is pretty short; Changbin opens his can of lemonade on their way, even though Jisung tells him he should save it for later; they arrive at the court and Minho can already hear the others laughing. 

Felix notices them first and waves with both of his hands, trying to catch their attention as if they can’t already see the bunch of people sitting on the ground. He’s cute, Minho thinks as he pushes the gate open. 

He doesn’t understand how they can even feel like moving at all when it’s so hot but they don’t waste any time and go straight to playing (after Minho makes them wear sunscreen, saying he won’t be friends with lobsters). 

Jisung strips off his jacket, though, and throws it into Minho’s face with a shit-eating grin. Minho wants to strangle him a little but he offers a smile just as fake and spreads the jacket on the ground to sit comfortably. 

Through his sunglasses, Minho watches them for a while and won’t even lie that his eyes wander back to Jisung every now and then. To the black tank top loosely hanging over his frame, to his exposed arms and toned legs; to the stray strands of his blond hair falling over and already sticking to his forehead; to his sparkling eyes that probably look golden in the sunlight but Minho sits too far away to see for sure.

There’s so many beautiful things about Jisung but his smile, that damned heart-shaped smile, is his favorite. And when Jisung breaks into another one and it just doesn’t vanish, Minho makes himself look away. 

He opens his can of lemonade and takes a swig, face twisting in a grimace at the sour taste. Minho absolutely loves lemonade but he hates it just the same. There’s only one person who can make it perfect—just as sweet as he likes it. 

Minho smiles under his breath, tilting his head back. He could fall asleep like this, with the rays of sun tickling his face and the weak gusts of wind blowing his hair away. 

Despite the previous protests, Minho is actually enjoying himself. Even though Jisung keeps shrieking and Hyunjin is definitely trying to strangle him. He doesn’t mind his friends laughing and disturbing precious silence that much. Minho is sipping on his lemonade and there’s Jisung’s ice cold can resting on his sternum and it’s a nice day. 

Minho stops sunbathing to watch them play—or, rather fight—on the court, too. He can’t help but grin seeing them run around, blindly tossing the ball and trying to trip each other. 

Playing basketball is more of Jisung screaming and popping a vein, Changbin laughing and pushing them to the ground not caring whether they’re on the same team or not. It’s Hyunjin actually being invested in the game as an actual player for their college’s club, and using his height to his advantage (whilst trying to strangle Jisung because Jisung might be a dwarf but he is one dangerous dwarf). It’s Felix giggling just to turn into a beast and snatch the ball out of everyone’s hands a mere second later. It’s Jeongin trying to tackle whoever stumbles across him to the ground, and it’s Chan unleashing his inner competitive demon like it’s not just a silly game between a bunch of friends on their local basketball court. 

Seungmin and Minho don’t really engage in their games (aside from yelling out random praises and booing) and sit by the sidelines, laughing. Seungmin stands up from time to time to snap pictures and Minho finds himself posing when the camera is pointed at him, too. 

But most of the time, Minho lies there, soaking up the sun without a single care in the world. Or maybe one—he still needs to do his physics assignment because summer is coming to an end and Jisung will definitely want to copy it in the morning when he comes over for their weekly study sessions; with his scratchy handwriting even though he could take his notes digitally. 

Minho likes it about him; how Jisung brings a notebook and a pen along most of the times, as if it’s a forever companion—a keeper of his random thoughts and doodles; how this notebook is a messy thing to everyone but him—how Jisung can always find exactly what he needs.

And Minho will sit there watching Jisung write things down like he always does, enjoying himself and the moment of cozy silence they’re given by the Universe. 

He might not be an expert but he’s quite sure his friends are breaking all the possible rules of basketball; it’s not like they’re having a match here, though—to them it’s more about pushing each other and having fun and maybe a little about throwing insults, too. But if their wide grins are anything to go by, Minho thinks they’re having a good time. 

Felix and Hyunjin are tossing the ball back and forth when he focuses on the court again, only for Jisung to run between them and snatch it mid-air.

Minho has seen Jisung running too many times to count; back in middle school when they were just racing down the street, in P.E. classes, and then later when Jisung joined the club in highschool when his teacher told him he’s fast like a flying squirrel.

And it’s been years and now they’re both in college and Minho still comes to every race, to his practices and even joins him for jogging sometimes, even though he’s usually left behind; even when Jisung is far, far ahead, he still looks over his shoulder sometimes and when he sees that Minho is still there, that he hasn’t run back home, he sends him that dashing smile and Minho wishes he could run away in the other direction but, somehow, there’s something that pulls him towards Jisung. And, by now, there’s nothing he can do about it. 

But this time, Jisung seems even faster when he leaves everyone behind and runs to the other side of the court for his dear life. Minho doesn’t understand how he can do that and make it look so effortless—the sun is high up in the sky and his tank top is sticking to his skin and the sun rays must be blinding, too. 

There are four other people on the court, and yet Minho can only look at Jisung. It’s strange and familiar at the same time, the rush of heat to his ears and his chest, the way thoughts spin in his mind and his heart races. He has yet to figure out how to stop it, how to prevent himself from hopelessly falling but there might be no way out now, not when he’s in so deep. 

“Minho!” Jisung suddenly shouts, a little breathless, running and bouncing the ball at the same time.

Minho lowers the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, one eyebrow quirking up. If Jisung wants him to join them now, Minho is going back home. 

But Jisung’s face lights up in another beaming smile before he yells, “This one’s for you!” 

And then he throws the fucking basketball. 

Minho already knows it won’t reach the hoop when he tosses it mid-run, but a strange sense of anticipation rushes over him and he watches.

Jisung misses. 

To be fair, the ball actually touches the hoop—Minho is going to give him that—but it bounces against it once and almost hits him in the face. 

Minho can hear Changbin laughing his ass off and thinks Seungmin and Jeongin must be back from the convenience store down the road because he hears them snickering too. 

And yet, no matter how funny it is, Minho can’t bring himself to make a joke about it. His heart stutters in his chest as Jisung stills, the basketball sadly bouncing on the ground before rolling off into the grass. 

Minho is absolutely gone.

The others quickly join the bandwagon and begin chortling as well, shouting about how Jisung is the biggest loser in the world and yet Minho has that fond look again, how Minho likes him despite the fact that Jisung is undeniably a little piece of shit. 

And Minho has known he likes Jisung for a while now, so it isn’t a sudden realization—more like a death by a thousand cuts but the complete opposite—these little feelings bring him to life; a million pieces falling into place and everything makes sense now. 

Because it has always been Minho and Jisung, Jisung and Minho. 

He remembers his mother jokingly calling them soulmates so many years ago because, somehow, Minho has never been keen on meeting new people and then that introverted kid showed up and never left. And Jisung has picked her words, always saying he very much likes the idea of being Minho’s _better_ half. Minho might roll his eyes and say “We’re not even colleagues” every time, but he thinks this is exactly what they might be. Soulmates. 

Sometimes you just meet someone and it’s then and there already so clear that you—on some level or another—belong together. 

Because even if Jisung misses a clear shot that was supposed to be dedicated to Minho for some reason, Minho still feels like his heart has just grown ten sizes too big for his body. 

Yes, Jisung is the biggest loser that completely cannot play basketball but he’s _Minho’s_ loser that completely cannot play basketball.

It’s such a weird feeling to be in love with your best friend—to realize it and feel it so overwhelming; worry coils heavy in Minho’s stomach, holding him back from running toward Jisung and kissing him right then and there.

But Jisung finally turns around, lips twisted in a sheepish grin and cheeks red from something that can’t be the sun and Minho realizes that he might not be the only one feeling this way. 

It’s reassuring because, throughout these years they’ve spent together, he’s learnt to read Jisung. And there’s something that feels new in the way he looks at Minho but he realizes this glint has been there for a while now; it’s the obviousness of it all that makes Minho chuckle. 

Everyone must notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere—Minho meets eyes with Chan and it’s enough for him to gather the others and exclaim, “Let’s go get popsicles, I’ll pay!” and for the first time in forever, they all obey.

Jisung looks like he’s about to trail behind them, too, so Minho pats the ground beside himself to let him know he should stay. 

Minho already knows he likes Jisung, so he doesn’t know why his heart feels like it will explode when Jisung plops down with a soft sigh. His knee brushes over Minho’s thigh where he’s seated; so close, yet so far.

He lets Jisung wipe his face with his top, even though he finds it disgusting, and hands him the can of lemonade Minho has been saving just for him. With a thankful smile, Jisung takes a swig, setting it down on the ground, and leans back on his hands. 

Minho has seen him so many times, something close to every single damn day for the past years and yet… and yet. Jisung has this charm—starting from the tip of his head, through his soft face and toned body and ending with his toes, he’s just perfect. And Minho might be biased but Jisung is the most beautiful person in the entire Universe. 

“What was that about?” he asks eventually, when he’s sure Jisung has caught his breath. 

Minho is curious—if it meant something, if he is maybe reading too much into things, if Jisung was just being his playful self. There are so many questions he still feels scared to ask and maybe getting an answer to this one will help him figure the rest out. 

Jisung offers him a lopsided smile. “Why are you asking? Did you like it?” 

Minho wants to take it all back—the thoughts, the wants, the feelings, because maybe Jisung is just a bigger loser than Minho has thought and he’s not ready for all this work. 

But Minho is a loser too; he’s a fool, actually, and maybe it’s exactly why they get on like a house on fire. 

“Yes, actually—I know, it’s surprising,” he says, watching Jisung snort a laugh. “But I think that might be just you that I like.” 

If Jisung was still sipping on his lemonade, he would definitely choke and die right here, before Minho could even say anything else. His mouth falls open—he looks like a fish, and maybe on another day it would be funny, but Minho has been waiting for too long now. 

He reaches out to press one finger under Jisung’s chin and shuts his mouth close. It would be so easy to just move his hand further to the side, to cup his face and lean in, but there are still unspoken words between them. 

“I know it’s out of the blue but I really like you,” he repeats, clearer. 

Saying he has a crush on Jisung is juvenile, and telling him Minho loves him requires much more courage, seems like too much, even though it’s exactly what Minho feels. He can only hope it’s enough. 

Ten different expressions flash through Jisung’s face in the span of a second; it happens too fast for Minho to read but his wide eyes speak volumes. They’re bright—just as golden as Minho has thought; soft and sweet and Minho might be falling all over again.

“Are you—” Jisung starts, before snapping his mouth closed again. It’s funny how he can’t seem to wrap his head around it. “Can you say it again? I need to make sure I didn’t mishear anything.” 

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement. He holds back the chuckle that threatens to escape his lips and looks at Jisung like he’s a complete idiot and, at that moment, it doesn’t feel that far from the truth. Minho doesn’t know if Jisung is just that oblivious, doesn’t have the idea that Minho is head over heels for him, or is just plainly having the time of his life making fun of him. 

“I just said I liked you. _Twice_. How can you mishear that?” 

Minho knows Jisung has feelings for him, too, but the way he stares at Minho with wide eyes is just anxiety-inducing. He wishes Jisung would say something—anything—but the court is dead silent without the others and the quiet starts ringing in Minho’s ears. 

But then Jisung breathes out a million of ‘oh my god’s and breaks into the most beautiful smile Minho has ever seen on him and every worry that crawled its way into Minho’s mind vanishes. Boom. Just like that. 

“You like me _back_ ?! What the actual fucking fuck,” Jisung rambles, curses spilling out of his mouth one after another, as if he has forgotten that Minho is right in front of him. “Oh my god, kiss me. What the fuck. I’ve been waiting—Remember when I pushed you off your bike in third grade? I think I was in love with you back then. Fuck. _Fuck_.” 

Minho can barely understand what Jisung is saying but it doesn’t matter; he breathes a sigh of relief, feeling an overwhelming wave of fondness crashing against his shore. Minho loves Jisung, of course he does; a mere seconds ago he was scared to say it aloud and now—now _love_ feels like such an understatement. Jisung has his heart, his entire soul in his hands and he’s had them for a while now, or maybe even forever, keeping them safe and loved. 

Minho reaches out to slip his arm over Jisung’s shoulders and pull him closer. It shuts him up but not for long—when Minho opens his mouth to speak, Jisung interrupts him again. 

“I can’t believe you decided the best moment to confess is after I’ve missed a basketball shot. You’re insane.” 

Shifting, he folds his legs underneath him so it’s more comfortable to rest his chin on Minho’s shoulder. Minho turns to the side and finds Jisung _collected_ —a smug smile is painted across his face and he flutters his long eyelashes. 

“You like me even though I’m a loser?” 

Minho might think his embarrassing cliche thoughts but no way in hell is he saying them aloud. Definitely not with Jisung grinning like this, ready to hear sweet things and bask in the glory. 

“I take it back. And don’t look at me with those bulging eyes. You’re horrendous,” he says and watches Jisung widen his eyes even more for good measure.

Wow, Minho has really hit a jackpot, hasn’t he? 

Jisung is an absolute moron but he makes Minho laugh with his whole body like this—Minho can’t put on a façade when he’s with Jisung. And he knows it, of course he does; he always uses it to his own advantage. 

“Yes, I’m horrendous but just exactly your kind of horrendous,” Jisung beams, bopping his head, only to carry on a little more quietly, “I can’t believe this is happening. I just—I don’t know. I tried to not make it obvious in case you’d be weirded out or… something so it’s just strange that you actually like me back.” 

Minho finds it straining to keep his neck twisted and faces forward again, resting the side of his head against Jisung’s forehead. It’s a weird position but Jisung’s breath tickles his ear and Minho squirms with a giggle. 

“The guys have been making fun of us for a while,” he says, “so I kinda thought you’d realize. But, I guess, you’re not as bright as I thought.” 

“Hey! Why are you so mean to me already?” Jisung groans, and Minho’s grin only widens. “You aren’t getting any kisses, then.”

Minho pulls a face, grimacing, but his eyes sparkle with joy. “Who told you I wanted to kiss you? Especially not when you’re all sweaty and disgusting.” 

Jisung wraps his arms around Minho’s middle to gross him out (it doesn’t work—Minho absolutely loves having him close) and makes obnoxious kissing sounds, pursing his lips like a fish. 

Minho tries to wriggle away but Jisung doesn’t seem to be fine with letting go; he shifts, pushing Minho to the ground. With his palms resting on both sides of Minho’s face, he hovers over him and looks so, so fucking smug about it.

Minho has never wanted to wipe a smile off Jisung’s face this badly.

The hopeless romantic in him has always thought first kisses should be special—a romantic setting, maybe the first date, flushed faces and soft voices, uncertainty laced with an overwhelming urge to be close.

But with Jisung it’s different. 

When he leans in—his body almost crashing into Minho’s when he tries to lower himself—Jisung remains still for a mere second, before diving in. It’s just a drawn out peck to test the waters; when he pulls away, Minho hums and tugs him right back.

They’re not kids, they’re not teenagers, and Jisung uses all his experience to show Minho that this is exactly what he wants. Jisung kisses like he means it. 

Minho’s hands travel to his neck, looping around it to pull him closer. His lips are sweet and sour, just like the lemonade he’s had earlier, and Minho thinks he might get drunk on him. Jisung’s skin is hot under his fingertips—there’s so much to explore, so much to discover about him and Minho wants it all. 

It’s nothing like he’s imagined. 

Kissing Jisung is familiar, even though they haven’t done it before; it’s like coming back to a warm home, like a hug on winter evenings, like a mug of a favorite tea. It’s that old childhood song Minho can’t forget the lyrics of, the taste of lollipops from the convenience store that has been in town almost twice as long as they’ve lived. 

Minho’s stomach tickles, heart hammers against his ribcage and it feels so right when his mouth moves against Jisung’s. It is special, more meaningful than anything in the world, but it’s different. 

They part quicker than he’d like to, because Jisung groans and Minho realizes his arms might give out. A giggle slips past his lips as he mumbles, “Stand up, loser, stand up.” 

Jisung chuckles and there’s this soft smile lingering on his lips, even when he wipes them with the back of his hand, when he sits back, when he lets out a deep sigh and when his eyes find their way back to Minho’s. 

And Minho lies there, on the ground of their local basketball court, a little breathless but happy; so damn happy. Wondering why he hasn’t said anything before, he doesn’t take his gaze off Jisung, not even for a second.

It’s wonderful to have your feelings reciprocated and even more so by the person who means the most to you. And Jisung has been Minho’s favorite person for so long—the first place (or a close second) in his heart. Giving someone so much power is scary but Jisung sits there beside him and his hand travels to Minho’s, taking it into a gentle hold, rubbing the knuckles with his thumb; if there’s anyone Minho trusts with his life, it’s him. 

It’s always been Jisung. 

Minho wishes they could stay like this forever. The sun doesn’t bother him that much now—not when it makes Jisung burn bright in golden hues—and the sound of birds chirping serves as a good background noise when Minho is admiring him. 

“How are you feeling?” Jisung asks, lacing their fingers together. He sounds delighted but his voice rings in Minho’s ears with a hint of worry. 

He blinks and there’s nothing he can do other than to smile. And he feels like the others have been right this whole time—that Minho always looks at Jisung with utmost fondness in his eyes, because he might have not realized before, but now—now he can feel it, too. 

“Wonderful,” Minho says, and can practically see the weight lifting off Jisung’s shoulders. “And you? Are you fine with everything?” 

Jisung scrunches his nose. “Define _everything_. I’m just—I wanna talk it out and work it out and… I want to be yours and want you to be mine.” 

Minho feels a wave of something—something unexplainable in words, something that makes his heart stutter, something that makes breath catch in his throat. It always comes when he’s with Jisung but this time it rushes over Minho with force he hasn’t experienced before. 

“I want to be with you,” he tells Jisung and it might be stupid and cliche but Minho does not give a single fuck—he brings Jisung’s hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Never have I wanted anything more than to be with you.” 

Jisung lets out a strangled shriek. “What the fuck—Why are you so—Fuck. You can’t go and say sweet things like this! You know what this shit does to my heart? Do you have any idea?” 

He’s crazy but his rambling makes Minho laugh; throwing his head back, he hits the ground but it doesn’t matter—not when Jisung pulls him up to rub the sore spot, shaking his head.

“Be careful. What if you hit yourself and lose your memory and forget me?” he says, and it sounds ridiculous.

And yet, Minho can’t help but think that Jisung is the person who makes him feel things he’s never experienced before, makes him say words he’s never even dared to tell no one; the person whose touch quietens all the worries in his mind and makes him feel good—feel loved.

He doesn’t even want to think about how scary it would be to have your heart ripped out of your chest like this, to have your thoughts and feelings taken away, to be left with nothing but emptiness.

But with Jisung being a part of him—Minho thinks he’s someone he could never forget. 

They stay like this, sitting on the hot ground with their knees brushing, soaking up what’s left of the sun beginning to hide beyond the horizon. The others come back soon and Seungmin throws them a packet of sour jelly before sinking down onto the ground. If they notice something has changed, if Minho playing with Jisung’s fingers awakens some thoughts, they don’t ask.

No one goes back to playing basketball, though. Even if it’s still early, they’re already tired from running around the court in direct afternoon sun and the only thing on everyone’s mind is to shower and lie down.

Minho, however, has something else on his mind. 

“Wanna come over and spend some time with your favorite boy in the world?” he asks Jisung when they’re already walking toward the centre to split into three different directions. 

The others are ahead of them, laughing at something and spilling canned fizzy drinks onto the pavement when they gesticulate too much. Minho thinks he sees Changbin glancing over his shoulder a few times but he might be imagining things; afterall, he doesn’t really pay much attention to anything other than the boy beside him. 

“Oh, of course! I’m always happy to see Doongie,” Jisung grins innocently, prepared for Minho to throw a remark back. 

But Minho slips an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Yeah, I think he’s always happy to see you, too. That’s why you should come over more often.” 

Minho wants to turn his head to the side and kiss Jisung right then and there but seeing Jisung’s face lighting up in a smile is enough to make his heart race. Kissing might have it exploding. 

“I’ll make sure to do just that! And what if I stay the night? Do you think Doongie would be alright with cuddling me to sleep?”

And it’s not like they haven’t slept in the same bed countless times before, but damn. Now Minho can shamelessly invite Jisung over just because he feels like cuddling _him_ ; they might end up on the opposite edges of the bed trying to kick each other off, though—that’s happened many times before and probably won’t change. 

“You’ll have to make some space for me, don’t you think? It’s my bed, afterall.” 

Jisung flutters his eyelashes and draws out a “no”, but Minho knows better; by the way Jisung’s arm finds its way to his waist and they’re practically hugging while walking, by the way he tries to bite back a smile and fails so miserably, by the way he looks up at Minho and his eyes sparkle, golden in the last remnants of the setting sun. 

They part ways with the others not too long after. Minho knows that on any other day, Changbin would be walking with them, would take the same route and accompany them home but he’s leaving with Chan today. It’s not like it’s a big thing—it’s not like Changbin still tagging along would ruin the happiness pooling in Minho’s stomach, but it’s nice to know that their friends are so attentive. 

Climbing the stairs, they chatter just like they always do—Jisung rambles about things and Minho shoots comments here and there to let him know he’s listening. And yet, unlocking the front door and letting Jisung in first feels different. Minho doesn’t know if Jisung perceives it like he does, but he stills in the vestibule and sends Minho a look over his shoulder, as if to ask, “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”. 

Minho nods, even if Jisung hasn’t verbally expressed this question, even if it might have been just in Minho’s head. One fleeting glance into the mirror hanging on the wall, he realizes he hasn’t stopped smiling since they confessed, not even for a second. 

Minho wants this feeling to last; he wants to ride the waves of overwhelming joy and fondness as long as he can. He realizes it won’t always be like that; they’ve had a fair share of disagreements as friends and he’s sure they won’t avoid that stepping into a romantic relationship; but as Minho sees Jisung flopping down on the couch next to napping Doongie, as he watches Jisung run fingers through the ginger fur from behind the counter while pouring juice into tall glasses, Minho thinks they will be alright. 

They have fought before and made up, they have not spoken for days and run back into each other’s arms, they have made each other upset and angry and laugh and have become each other’s safe space; they have said things they didn’t mean and apologized for them. So much has happened between them throughout all these years and there’s so much more to come. 

Minho is ready to face it all with Jisung. He feels like it’s right—it _will_ work out. 

It’s so natural to slip onto the couch next to Jisung, to have his arm draped around shoulders, to put on a random movie on Netflix and point out ridiculous things.

Minho likes the way he looks up from where his head lies on Jisung’s shoulder and can shamelessly watch him before Jisung notices and pulls a funny face. And how can Minho not grin? How can he not find Jisung the most adorable person in the world when he’s so in love? 

“I can’t stand up with Doongie in my lap. I’m not evil,” Jisung whines with a perfectly practiced serious expression when Minho tells him he should go and get himself something to sleep in from his closet.

Minho can’t really argue with that, can he? He’s a cat lover first, human second; he understands how healing it feels to have a kitty sleeping in your lap. And Jisung might be using Doongie to get out of moving because he’s tired after playing basketball for most of the day, but it’s okay, too. 

With a sigh, Minho slips out of Jisung’s embrace. Heat involuntarily rises to his ears when he steals a kiss from his lips and Jisung chases after him, despite being so against standing up. What a brat. 

Minho heads to his bedroom, glad he’s changed sheets a few days ago; they still smell of flowery fabric softener, though, and if Jisung ends up with the same scent clinging to him in the morning, Minho’s heart might not survive that.

He smiles to himself, though, because it’s a good day—there’s so many reasons to grin like a child. Opening the door of his closet, Minho spends a while thinking about what to pick up. And if he ends up choosing one of the oversized t-shirts he’s always pictured Jisung in instead of the sea of tops Jisung has left in his closet after staying over, no one has to know. Minho might be a little selfish and his heart might race when he sees Jisung in his home, wearing his clothes, lying in his bed, but now he doesn’t have to hide it. 

Jisung is still on the couch with Doongie in his lap when Minho comes back, fingers slowly carding through the cat’s fur. Minho lingers in the doorway, enjoying the sight with a smile on his face. Everything about this day screams domesticity and makes warmth pool in his belly—this is going to be a daily occurence now; even though their friendship is and always has been a close one, even though they’re soulmates, it’s all different now—they’ve taken a big step forward. 

Minho will always put his friendship with Jisung above everything else, though. If they both see this is not working out—he believes they will be able to figure things out. But now… things are good. 

“Sung-ah?” he asks, voice only a little over a whisper. Jisung turns to face him and smiles—it seems like both of them just can’t stop smiling. “I’ll go take a shower now, alright?” 

Minho sort of expects him to say something like “want me to join you?” with that stupid grin of his, but Jisung only nods, saying, “I’ll be here waiting.” 

And Minho’s heart shouldn’t hammer like it does. Jisung’s words are so simple and yet strike him like lightning. It’s embarrassing how he rushes to the bathroom, takes a shower shorter than usual, just to come back quickly. He might be a grown adult but sometimes it’s a good thing to give some situations a piece of your teenage heart. 

When Minho returns, smelling of chocolate shower gel, Jisung isn’t sitting on the sofa anymore—he’s pouring boiled water into mugs (their favorites—a frog-shaped for Jisung and a cat-patterned for Minho) in the kitchen. 

“Made us some tea,” Jisung tells him when Minho is walking over to the counter. 

When he sets the electric kettle down, Minho finally wraps his arms around his middle, resting his chin on Jisung’s shoulder. Feeling Jisung relaxing in his embrace makes Minho feel unreasonably good.

“Nice. It will cool down by the time you’re back.”

Jisung hums in response but doesn’t make a move to pull away. Minho doesn’t, either, because he doesn’t want to let go. They stay like this for way longer than they should for it just feels right. 

Jisung eventually leaves to have a shower but Minho doesn’t head to bed just yet. When he comes back, the Nirvana t-shirt hangs loose over his frame, reaching his mid-thighs. With his hair damp and dishelved, he looks not only adorable but too fucking hot for Minho to handle. That’s one of Jisung’s powers—being sexy and cute at the same time. Minho feels weak everytime he sees him like this. 

“You’re staring,” Jisung points out, but there’s a hint of embarrassment in the smugness. 

“Yeah,” Minho can only let out. “Yeah, because you’re beautiful and you’re mine.”

The chuckle that Jisung lets out is sweet, so sweet that, when Minho closes the distance between them and slips an arm around Jisung’s waist to pull him into a kiss, he can almost taste it on his tongue. 

Minho likes how soft Jisung’s lips are, how they faintly taste of the cherry chapstick he always uses, how he smiles into the kiss—even though their teeth clash and he pulls away. 

Kitchen light reflects in Jisung’s eyes and, despite the fact that they aren’t as golden as in the sunlight, they’re beautiful. Minho might never pay attention to people’s eyes like this but with Jisung everything is different—Minho wants to know every part of him, wants to love every piece that makes him _Jisung_. And his eyes seem to be holding the stars, glimmering and eye-catching; even if they lose their light sometimes, there’s always something that will bring it back. 

“Come on, let’s go brush our teeth and watch another episode later, hmm?” Minho suggests, waiting for Jisung to nod before he begins walking towards the bathroom.

It hits Minho then—Jisung has his own toothbrush at his place, has his clothes and a towel and there’s this one spoon in the kitchen’s drawer that he likes best. He has never thought about it as something strange; Jisung is his friend, his soulmate, and spends a lot of time over. But this—seeing him casually grab his toothbrush out of the cup on the sink and squeeze out toothpaste onto it—tugs at Minho’s heart. 

Jisung really is a part of him—he’s everywhere. 

It feels domestic when he hands Minho the tube of toothpaste, and when they stand side by side, swaying and brushing their teeth like they’ve been married for ten years and this has become a tradition.

Minho can’t help himself—when their eyes lock in the reflection, he pulls a face, widening his eyes and tilting his head to the side. He doesn’t expect Jisung to snort a laugh, start choking and spit the toothpaste foam at the mirror. Conflicted between laughing and helping, Minho spits what’s left of toothpaste in his mouth and eventually pats Jisung’s back. 

“Come on, it’s alright,” he keeps saying, but he can’t hold back the amused tone as Jisung spits everything into the sink. 

“You—you are evil,” Jisung points an accusatory finger after rinsing his mouth with running water. Minho cracks up even more. 

“And you spit on my mirror! Clean it up or you’re sleeping on the couch.”

They both know there’s no possibility of Jisung ending up anywhere that is not Minho’s bed. 

“Hmm… and what if I give you a kiss? Will you forgive me and take me back?”

Minho cocks his head to the side, pretending to be thinking. “You aren’t getting away with everything just because you offer me a kiss,” he tells Jisung, joking.

He is definitely getting away with a lot of things just because he offers Minho a kiss. 

“I’m not?”

Jisung is a grown man but he sure does know how to be cute when he wants to get something; and it might work on Minho, mostly, for Minho is just a little bit too into him.

He flutters his eyelashes and somehow makes his eyes look bigger than they are, sticking out his lower lip. Of course Minho wants to kiss him. Who the hell would not want to kiss him? 

“Come on, just wipe it off and we can go lie down,” he says and watches Jisung roll his eyes. He turns to grab a paper towel, though, and wipes the spit off the mirror. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, baby. Now kiss.” 

Jisung puckers up his lips, exaggerating. And what is Minho going to do? Say no? 

This kiss, though short, tastes of toothpaste and is kind of disgusting but Minho still loves it. Jisung loops his arms around his neck and even when they part, he stays close. His skin smells like chocolate and makes him even sweeter. 

“I’ll go get Doongie and you wait for me,” he says with a grin.

Of course—this is who he’s come here for (supposedly). Minho shakes his head, slipping out of Jisung’s embrace and into the hallway.

Fairy lights in the bedroom shed golden light through the open door. Minho takes his side of the bed, not getting under the duvet just yet. The sheets are perfectly chill under his exposed legs but Minho finds himself missing Jisung’s warmth. 

It’s a relief he comes back quickly, with Doongie cradled in his arms. He offers Minho a soft smile before dropping the cat down to lie in the foot of the bed, where he usually naps when Minho isn’t occupying it. 

There’s something about the fact that Doongie just lets Jisung move him from one spot to another, that Doongie stays where Jisung is, that he chooses Jisung’s lap over anyone else’s most of the time. And Minho sometimes pretends he’s jealous, joking that it’s a crime that his cat loves someone more than him, but in reality his heart does a flip (or ten) when he sees Jisung and Doongie together. 

It feels like home. 

And so do Jisung’s arms when he finally lies down and wraps them around Minho’s middle, resting his cheek on Minho’s chest. There’s no other place in the entire Universe he would rather be. 

They both seem to have agreed to listen to Doongie’s purring and watch the cat with fond eyes; it’s quiet for a moment, before Jisung speaks again. 

“I was afraid it would be awkward.”

Minho looks down to find Jisung drawing patterns on Minho’s abdomen with his finger. His voice isn’t sad—more relieved, but there’s a hint of worry that Minho wants to dispel. 

“Well, is it?” he asks and it’s when Jisung looks up at him. 

His lips curl up in a slight smile, and it’s Minho’s worries—those he has thought he has gotten rid of—that get dispersed. “No, of course not. But they’re kind of… strange. It’s not the right word but I don’t—I don’t know how to describe it.” 

Minho hums in understanding. “Different, maybe? You’ve been here a million times before, we’ve spent so many years together, and yet… And yet.”

Jisung huffs a laugh, hand now playing with the hem of Minho’s t-shirt. Their legs are tangled together and it seems crazy how easy things have fallen into place—like them stepping into a romantic relationship is only natural, something that would happen sooner or later.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Today… everything feels different.” 

“I know things are going to change now and it might get… I don’t know. It will get hard and we will make mistakes because it just happens,” Minho tells him, snuggling closer. “But we’ve known each other for an eternity. I’m still me and you are you. We’ve always been close. Now we’re just… closer.” 

Jisung nods against his chest before propping on his elbow to plant a soft kiss on Minho’s lips. “Above everything, you’re my friend.” 

“Correction, love—I’m your _soulmate_.” 

If Minho had known Jisung would react like this—would break into the prettiest smile ever and kiss him again—he would have called him that years ago. Maybe he should have done that even without expecting a reaction. But now—now Minho can say it out loud and watch Jisung’s eyes turn into crescents as his smile grows so wide it forms a heart again. 

Jisung is love personified.

Minho pulls him back onto his chest; he isn’t scared that Jisung will hear his heart rate skyrocketing, not anymore. He wants Jisung to hear, to listen and pay attention, so he knows that this is exactly the effect he has on Minho. 

The night is much more chill than the day—crisp air blows into the room through the cracked window—and yet they don’t slip underneath the duvet. One reason is that Doongie is sleeping on it and if they move him, he will probably run away or get all offended until they feed him. The other is that it might be too hot to sleep cuddled up and they don’t really want to let go of each other. 

It’s perfect—Minho is safe and sound, in the arms of the person he loves, with his grumpy cat and there’s an even brighter future ahead. 

“I’m sleepy,” Jisung mumbles and maybe there’s something wrong with Minho, because his heart shouldn’t skip a beat like this just because of his soulmate’s voice. 

“Mhm, then sleep. It’s been a long day.” 

With one peck to the crown of Jisung’s head, Minho finds out this might be his favorite place to kiss him, besides his lips. It’s because of the content sigh Jisung lets out and because of the way he smiles, probably thinking Minho can’t see. 

But he can. Minho can only see _him_. 

Lulled by his steady breaths and Doongie’s content purrs, he falls asleep soon after Jisung does. Maybe he can’t remember what he dreams of, but with his favorite person in the world beside him, Minho thinks everything feels like a dream.

And when he wakes up in the morning, it’s with Jisung’s face pressed into the crook of his neck. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> stay safe and strong and take care!!  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated ♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/hanllno)   
>  [my writing twitter](https://twitter.com/10h25min)   
>  [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lovinagain)


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